


Fever

by DieLadi



Series: lovesick [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Love, M/M, Sickfic, Slash, boyslove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 17,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24715906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DieLadi/pseuds/DieLadi
Summary: Greg's been having a weird fever dream. Or was it not a dream at all? Sherlock's been acting like a Good Samaritan. All unselfish? In the end, it all comes down to the flu, and that's a good thing. A little Mystrade tale, with Johnlock in one of the parts.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mystrade - Relationship
Series: lovesick [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786960
Comments: 47
Kudos: 79





	1. beneficial

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Fieber](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198748) by [DieLadi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DieLadi/pseuds/DieLadi). 



> This is a translation to my story "Fieber", which you can find here on AO3. Please be aware that english is not my first language.

"Well," said Sherlock, after giving Greg the information he wanted and after and Greg had made the necessary arrest by making a few phone calls, "well, my brother may not give that impression, but he likes to be wooed. Someone who is interested in him should take their time and approach him slowly and romantically."  
Greg looked up in surprise from his desk in his office at New Scotland Yard.  
"And this should be relevant to me for exactly what reason... ?"  
Sherlock snorted.  
"Listen, Greg. My brother's been interested in you, he has been since the first time he met you."  
Greg stared at him with his mouth open. He must have heard wrong.  
"And since I've noticed lately that you're also interested in him - and now don't you dare deny it, don't forget you're talking to Sherlock Holmes - but neither one of you comes up with the idea to move towards the other one, I thought I'd give you a little push in the right direction. You're much braver than Mycroft, so you're more likely to take the first step. Now, if you'll excuse me, John is waiting for me.“  
And with that, he rushed out of Greg's office.

Greg shook his head.  
What the hell was that about?  
He wanted to go back to the files that were on his desk, but he couldn't stop his mind from turning to Sherlock's older brother. He sighed. Yes, Sherlock was right. He was fascinated by Mycroft. He had been for a long time.  
When Mycroft appeared at the Yard, it was usually to give orders and instructions. He was arrogant, bossy, aloof, there were reasons they called him "The Iceman". People generally bowed to him; since nobody really knew what position he actually held, but he radiated authority and self-confidence through his appearance alone, as if no one could harm him and as if it was a matter of course that his words were obeyed, it was generally agreed not to contradict him for safety's sake.

But ... Greg knew that there was another, human side to him.  
Greg had seen it.  
For a few brief moments, he had seen it flash before his eyes.  
The first time had been the day they met. Mycroft had asked about Sherlock and offered him, Greg, money in exchange for information. He had refused, and for fractions of a second he had seen the care and concern for his brother light up in the eyes of the other, before the mask of the ice-cold politician had been put over it again.

They had met again at 221b Baker Street, shortly after John and Sherlock had become a couple. Mycroft had questioned both John and Greg about Sherlock on the subject of drugs. They were happy to give him information, as there was nothing but good news to report, Sherlock had been stable for a long time. And Greg had seen something of gratitude in Holmes' eyes.  
There had been other such moments. And Greg was sure that besides him and perhaps John, nobody who did not belong to the Holmes family, would ever have the opportunity to notice this. In fact, John was now somehow a member of the family.

Greg sighed again.  
Despite all this, this was still about Mycroft Holmes. And the thought that had just crept into Greg's head was completely absurd. The thought, or rather the wish, that one day he would also belong to the Holmes family, and that he would do so alongside this man.  
He ran his hand through the grey hair and tried to concentrate on the file in front of him again. It did not work. His thoughts kept wandering.  
Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock had claimed that Holmes was interested in him. And since he'd spoken of "wooing" and "conquering", it was clear in which direction that interest was going.  
But, um... ..was it true?

Greg was sure that Sherlock would make no mistake. Sherlock was never wrong, as much as this fact annoyed Greg at times, because Sherlock never missed an opportunity to rub everyone's nose in it.  
He would, however, trust the younger Holmes to simply tell the untruth. Not out of malice, no. Rather, to watch him make a fool of himself, to have his amusement, and thus escape boredom, at least for a short while.

On the other hand... ...there was John now. John, who made sure that Sherlock was far less bored than before. John, who would by no means approve of such a "fooling around" and, should he find out, would give Sherlock hell. John was a factor to be taken seriously, who clearly spoke against teasing on Sherlock's part.

But even if that were so...  
What would he do with it?  
Well, he couldn't very well go to Mycroft Holmes and say:  
"Look, I fancy you, and I know you fancy me, so shouldn't we just stick together from now on?"  
Greg smirked at the phrase. And imagined Holmes' reaction.  
He would probably raise one eyebrow, sneer at him and say something like:  
"Detective Inspector, you should urgently review the dosage of your psychotropic drugs!"  
No, Greg thought giggling, that would almost be too humorous and not offensive enough.  
More or less:  
"DI Lestrade, you should urgently reconsider whether choosing alcoholic beverages during your lunch hour is beneficial for your career!"  
And then he'd turn on his heels and go.

Greg did start giggling at the performance.  
At that moment, Donovan knocked on his office door.  
Pull yourself together, Lestrade, he said to himself; there's work to be done here, you're not here to romanticize Mycroft Holmes ..., his brain wanted to think, but he wouldn't let it and changed the word to philosophize. Yeah, you're not here to philosophize about Holmes.  
"Come in," he called Donovan to him.  
"Sally, what's up?"

And while he listened to her talk, he had the Holmes subject put aside.  
He saw no opportunity to talk to this man any further and Sherlock could spin all he wanted; it was a given, and therefore it was not worth thinking about any further.


	2. cute

Cute.  
It was the word that had been running through Mycroft Holmes' mind since his brother had been in his office.

But the word "cute" was by no means referring to his brother. Sherlock... Mycroft snorted in amusement. Sherlock had been quite a handsome child, but that was a long time ago and now, as a more or less grown man, he was just annoying.  
No, Sherlock, however, had spoken of DI Lestrade.  
He had turned up in Mycroft's office under a rather flimsy pretext and after a short back and forth Mycroft had asked him:  
"Sherlock, what do you want?"

Sherlock had had a quick look at him and said:  
"Believe it or not, big brother, I want you to find some happiness in your life. And if only because you don't get on my nerves when you're otherwise engaged. So here's what I want: DI Lestrade is a person who has been far too little cared for in his marriage. If you want to win him over you should take care of him and show that you care for his welfare."  
"Well, Sherlock, I don't recall ever having expressed an interest in that matter."  
"Oh, Mycroft, you forget who you're talking to. I'm no worse at deductions than you, in fact I think I'm considerably better..."  
"Well then, think that...“  
"and I see that you want him. And I can see that he, too, as John would say, "fancies you," so you should do us both a favor and take matters into your own hands.“  
"Sherlock, please leave my office. As much as I appreciate your presence, I much prefer to be left to my work in peace."  
"Yeah, yeah, save the world if you want to, but after hours, look after Gavin, Graham... you know."  
"Sherlock!“  
That's when his brother left the office with a grin.

Since then, DI Lestrade has been haunting Mycroft Holmes' thoughts.  
Cute, isn't he?  
That insolent, mischievous smile that covers the policeman's face when he's having a laugh. Yes, well, Mycroft thought it was cute, he just couldn't help himself.  
It showed a glimpse of the other's souls, showed a certain warm-heartedness...

He knew Lestrade as long as his brother knew him.  
Of course, Mycroft had the policeman checked when he started working with Sherlock. Everyone who played a part in Sherlock's life was vetted by him, or his associates.  
He had got to know him as a loyal, helpful policeman, a kind, good-hearted person.  
He held him in high esteem.  
Yes, and he had to admit to himself... it was more than that.  
He liked him in a very different way.

Mycroft had known since early adolescence that he wasn’ interested in women. He was only interested sexually in men. When he was younger he was in a committed relationship and he had suffered deeply when they broke up. It had almost torn him apart, but once he had overcome the pain, he swore to himself: never again.  
Since then he had had affairs, discreet, insignificant, but he had never let anyone come near him again. He had thrown all his energy into work.  
And, well, his success proved him right:  
One only had to look at where he was today. Outwardly, an insignificant civil servant. But the truth is, he was pulling the strings behind the scenes for a lot of things. He was a kind of grey eminence, and the power and influence he possessed were his reward.  
He smiled. His brother once claimed he was married to his work... well, he, Mycroft, was at least as much so.

His smile, however, went a little crooked as he continued to stretch the notion.  
Sherlock had claimed this to fend off John, whose statements he had mistakenly interpreted as advances at the time. He had put forward this statement because he was unsure of his own intentions.  
Did he feel the same way... ?  
Besides, John, who hadn't thought of such a thing at the time, had managed to admit to himself that he loved Sherlock and Sherlock had also ...  
They were a couple now...  
Well, no. He, Mycroft, didn't need to pretend.  
He knew he found DI Lestrade interesting. Still, the first thing that came to his mind when he thought of him was that smile. Cute.  
But, um... he had neither the time nor the leisure for a relationship that went beyond a few bedtime adventures. And if he was honestly true, he doubted that the DI would engage in a casual affair, certainly not with him, the Iceman himself; and besides, he was honestly too good for him. A man like Lestrade deserved more.  
And he was not willing or able to give more than that...  
was he?  
Hmmm...

He shook his head over himself.  
What could possibly make him think that the DI would want to share anything like that with him.  
His brother's testimony... well, there wasn't much to go on.  
Sherlock managed to make him run into the open knife and then feast on the way he licked his wounds. Wouldn't have been the first time.  
Even if he thought John was going to scold him in a case like this.  
John did his brother good, there was no question about it.  
The doctor, like Lestrade, was a lucky find for Sherlock.  
Since the two had been in his life, one as, yes, how should one call it, friend and employer, the other first as a friend, now as lover, as companion, things had become much calmer around him, and he, Mycroft, had to worry much less about his little brother.  
And that, he had to admit, made his life much more relaxed.  
He was very grateful to the little blond doctor and the policeman with the wonderful eyes, brown as fresh coffee, and the cute smile.

And again he smiled at himself.  
Good Lord, he thought about Lestrade like a teenager in love.  
Well, it didn't matter, he could think whatever he wanted. Why not have a little crush?  
But he'd leave it at that.  
He wouldn't do anything because... No, it was fine the way it was.

With a smile he turned back to his files.  
Concentrating on the problems recorded in them, the word flashed through his mind one last time:  
"Cute."


	3. feverish

Gregory Lestrade woke up when his mobile phone rang the alarm. He sat up and realised that everything revolved around him. His head was buzzing, his nose was shut. His throat was scratching, and as he tried to stand up, a violent coughing fit shook him, and at the same time a dizziness gripped him, causing him to plop back onto the bed. He touched his forehead. Yes, he clearly had a fever, and that's how he felt.  
He picked up his mobile phone and texted Donovan that he was ill and wouldn't be coming to the Yard.  
Then he let himself fall back into bed and fell asleep immediately.

He woke up again late in the morning.  
Thank God he had a water bottle by his bed. He unscrewed it and took a few sips. That felt good. Afterwards he was at least able to go to the bathroom for a moment. Then he groped wobbly into the kitchen.  
He searched his cupboard for tea. Nothing. So he made himself a coffee. A hot drink, after all.  
A look in the refrigerator revealed a total emptiness. He was hardly ever at home otherwise; he ate at a snack bar somewhere during the day, took home pizza in the evening or Chinese food ... He should get some food, also some fruit. And tea.  
But then he shook his head, which immediately caused dizziness again.  
No, going out and shopping, God knows he would not be able to do that now.  
So what to do?

After he had finished his coffee, he remembered that he could call John. Surely John and Sherlock would be kind enough to get him the essentials. So he dialled John's number.  
"Yeah?" his friend's voice cracked on the line.  
"Hello, John, it's Greg," he squawked back. "You don't sound too good..."  
"Yeah," sniffed John, "Sherlock and I have been hit really hard. We've both been ill since yesterday. Hurray for Mrs Hudson, who's looking after us."  
"Oh..." Greg was thinking. I suppose that was the end of his plans.  
"John, I just... I didn't want... I think we'd better discuss it when we're all well. Like I said, nothing important."  
He coughed.  
"Okay," it came faintly from John. "Get well soon, Greg."  
"You too, both."  
He hung up.  
Well, I guess that was nothing. Anyway, he'd wait until tonight and then call Donovan, surely she'd be kind enough to get him a few things after hours. He just had to wait.  
He went back to bed for a while.

…

Sherlock was only half listening to John's phone call. The fever had made him feel as if he had cotton wool all around him.  
"Who was that?" he asked anyway.  
"Greg," sniffed John.  
"What did he want?"  
"I don't know. He had a terrible cold too, and when he heard we both weren't feeling any better, he said we could talk about it later, it wasn't important."  
Sherlock shook his head. He understood immediately why Greg had called.  
He might be groggy and his, yes, even his ingenious thinking apparatus might have been a bit affected (swollen and irritated throat and nasal mucous membranes, inflamed bronchi, blocked sinuses and the resulting rise in body temperature were also annoying!) But it was clear why Greg did call.  
And in that moment he had an idea.

A few weeks ago he had already asked Gregory Lestrade (yes, he knew Lestrade's name. The fuss with the wrong first names was just a game, he enjoyed it when the other person got annoyed about it, and in the meantime he had noticed that Mycroft also got annoyed about it when he called Lestrade by the wrong first name in his presence, and of course that was at least as much fun for Sherlock) as well as Mycroft to bring the game on.  
In his opinion, only a blind man with a cane (and again, in his opinion, most people were blind and desperately needed a cane for their minds) could overlook the fact that Greg and Mycroft liked each other, well.  
He had now tried to poke them both with in the right direction, but no success was forthcoming.  
They were coy as Victorian young girls.

Well, propably it was necessary to bring in the big guns.  
He picked up his cell phone and called his brother.  
"Holmes..."  
"Mycroft, it's Sherlock. Listen. A friend needs help."  
He heard Mycroft snorting, he could feel his eyes roll, he could literally see his thoughts:  
What does Sherlock want? What the hell's he done now?  
Sherlock coughed pointedly into the phone.  
"We are ill, John and I, since yesterday. We're in pretty bad shape. Don't worry, thank God John went shopping yesterday morning and Mrs Hudson's a real gem. She's even left us a large pot of home-made chicken soup. So we're all set."  
"Right, Sherlock, so what can I do for you?"

"A friend needs help. He's also sick, he called earlier, probably to ask us to get him some things, no, not probably, I know that's the case. When he heard how sick we both were, he backed out. And, well, I know he doesn't have anybody else to help him."  
The latter wasn't exactly true, Sherlock knew that, but the end justifies the means.

"Well, „said Mycroft, a bit annoyed, „and what's it got to do with me now?“  
Sherlock smiled and said, after beating a coughing fit:  
"Well, the freind in question is George Lestrade!"  
"Gregory,“ Mycroft growled, before he realised what his brother was saying.  
He was silent.  
Sherlock enjoyed his silence, knowing what was going on in Mycroft's mind.  
He decided to take it to the limit.  
"I'm just saying," he said, and hanged up.  
With a wide smile on his face he looked at John.  
"Ten," he said.  
John looked at him questioningly. "Ten what?"  
"Seconds till Mycroft calls back," Sherlock said, counting down on his fingers.  
At two, his mobile rang.


	4. caring

"Sherlock!" Mycroft barked through the phone.  
"Yeah???"  
Silence again for a moment.  
Then he heard Mycroft, struggling to calm himself down:  
"Have you got enough chicken soup to spare for Lestrade?"  
Sherlock smiled.  
"Needless to say, brother dear. I'm sure dear Mrs Hudson will make us some more any day now."  
"Good. I'll pop round and fill up a little pot. Now put John on."  
Sherlock smiled and passed his phone to John.  
"John? Listen. I'm just about to pop into DI Lestrade's, drop some stuff off. Some groceries. Would you be prepared to write me a prescription for the most important cold medicines, which I can then get him from the pharmacy, and if possible a sick note for the next few days? I know, normally you would have to see him for that, but since you are under the westher yourself ... and when you have a cold you just need rest ... Thank you, John."  
And before john could even speak, he hung up.

"And what's up with that now?", John asked in amazement.  
"Well, my brother will finally step out of his shadow and take the first step."  
"Sherlock, what first step? Oh... oh, you mean... Mycroft and Lestrade? You mean they …?!"  
Sherlock nodded and sneezed violently.  
John's jaw was a bit near his navel.  
"You're serious? Those two? Really???"

About an hour later, Mycroft turned up, got some soup, got the prescription and the sick note.  
He thanked John politely, gave Sherlock a scowling look ("Hey, I think you should thank me too, Mycroft!") and left.

…

So it happened that the doorbell went off at Greg Lestrade's in the early afternoon. He had just made himself a thermos of tea, borrowed the tea bags from his old, friendly neighbour, and then retired to his sofa with a thick fleece blanket. He had briefly considered turning on the TV, but had to realize that he was too exhausted to concentrate and had simply closed his eyes for a nap.  
But before he could even sink into sleep, the bell rang.

With difficulty Greg pulled himself up.  
Who could that be? Maybe the postman?  
Sniffing, he trotted to the door and opened it.  
And to his amazement, Mycroft Holmes stood before him in the hallway. Mycroft Holmes, carrying a large wicker basket on each arm.  
"Can I come in?"  
Greg was far too limp to do anything but nod his head.  
"To the kitchen?" Holmes asked.  
Greg showed the way, then trotted after the other, who now marched single-mindedly to his kitchen.  
Without quite understanding what was going on, he watched as Mycroft Holmes placed the two baskets on his table.  
"Mir Holmes, what... ..uh..."  
"DI Lestrade, I understand you've been taken ill. And as my brother and Dr Watson are no better, they are unable to help you. Knowing your work-related stress, knowing that you are hardly ever at home, I have taken the liberty of getting you the most basic necessities."  
And he started to unpack.  
Bread. cheese. Tomatoes. Sandwich cream.  
All kinds of fruit, oranges to squeeze.  
Eggs, ham, milk.  
Tea.  
Noodles and ready-made pasta sauce.  
From the second basket he took a pot,  
"Mrs Hudson's chicken soup.“  
and a bag marked "Pharmacy".  
"… and some medicines. and the pharmacist has written down exactly how you should use and take it.“  
Finally, he pulled an envelope from his coat pocket.  
"Inside here is a sick note for the rest of the week. Dr. Watson...“  
Mycroft put the paper down on the kitchen shelf.

"Have you had anything to eat today, DI?“  
Greg shook his head.  
"Well, it's about time. Would you like me to fix you some chicken soup, or would you prefer a sandwich?  
"Sandwich," Greg croaked. He didn't feel able to resist the somewhat assaultive care of the other.  
Hang on, did he just think the word "care" in a sentence with Mycroft Holmes? He had to grin. Mycroft Holmes, the caring Iceman. Greg couldn't help himself and started giggling.  
Holmes looked at him with a raised eyebrow.  
"You all right, DI?"  
Greg nodded.  
"Sorry," he said, "the fever..."

A few minutes later he found himself sitting at his kitchen table, eating a sandwich that Mr. Holmes had prepared for him.  
He would have found the situation most astonishing. But his mind was clouded with fever and it made it easier for him to accept the whole thing as it was.  
And as Sherlock's brother put a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice down in front of him and then put the used dishes in the dishwasher, tidied up the kitchen and then said goodbye, "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow, Gregory," he realized that he was beginning to enjoy this care.  
Yes, it was nice to have someone looking after him.  
And yes, it was even nicer that that someone was Mycroft Holmes, of all people.


	5. happy

The next morning Greg slept quite late. When he woke up, he had to shake his head over himself. He'd actually dreamt that Mycroft Holmes had turned up at his place with food and medical supplies...and even chicken soup.  
Greg laughed.  
What strange things the fever was doing to his brain.

He wasn't really any better than yesterday, his nose was still shut, his throat hurt, his head and all his bones ached. Well, at least he was no longer dizzy.  
He groped into the bathroom and took a shower, then put on a fresh jogging suit and thought about going to the bakery to at least get something to eat.

When he entered his kitchen, he stood there like rooted to the spot.  
In the middle of the table was the full fruit bowl.  
He hesitantly went to the refrigerator and opened it.  
It was well filled. Yes, there was also a pot there, and when Greg looked inside, he recognized chicken soup.  
He slammed the refrigerator shut and closed his eyes for a moment.  
So obviously it hadn't been a dream.  
Oh, boy.

Well, then he might as well have made himself breakfast while he figured out how to handle it now.  
He immediately made himself a whole pot of tea again, toasted some toast and made himself scrambled eggs.  
Then he sat down at his kitchen table, and as he ate slowly, his thoughts went back to the last day.  
Mycroft Holmes.

Why had that man come?  
He would have heard... He said...  
Well, that was easy to explain. Greg had phoned John; what John knew, Sherlock knew and he'd probably told his brother how bad he was.  
Mycroft had come over afterwards to help him.  
And he had to admit, it was a great help.  
He had food in the house now.  
...and medicines. And although there was not much you could do about a cold, except wait until it passed, things like nasal spray and cough syrup were helpful and relieved the symptoms.

Mycroft could just as easily have sent his driver. Or his assistant.  
But he'd come himself.  
He'd come himself. Why?  
Should... ..should there be something at the end? About what Sherlock had said?  
Was there supposed to be something about him, Greg, in the end?  
Greg swallowed.  
And as he took another sip of tea, he had to admit he was not at all uncomfortable with the idea.

He cleared away his dishes and snuggled out of the sofa.  
This time he turned on the television.  
He wanted to distract his thoughts a little and prevent him from focusing too much on this man, the brother of his consulting detective.  
There was some kind of documentary about the breeding and mating behaviour of the Atlantic puffins, a modern adaptation of the King Arthur legend, a really, really bad B-movie about killer dust ... What the fuck?  
Gregory shook his head. TV programming did not get better over time.  
He wondered if Mycroft was preoccupied with something as trivial as television.  
And then his mind went back to that man.

Finally, he gave up, turned off the television set and put on a record.  
As he listened to the music, his still feverish mind drifted into a reasonably restful sleep.

He awoke with a healthy hunger.  
So he went into the kitchen, put the pot of the deliciously smelling chicken soup on the stove and toasted some bread.  
When the soup was hot, he began to eat. He felt how good it did him and was grateful to Mrs Hudson. When he was well again, he would send her a big bouquet of flowers.  
And, yes, he was grateful to Mycroft.  
He'd like to thank him too. How, though, he'd have thought about that later. That's what his head couldn't manage at the moment.

He looked at the clock. It was early afternoon, yesterday Mycroft had turned up at about this time, if he was halfway through relaxing.  
And, um... And he said he'd be back today.  
Greg was cleaning the kitchen, cleaning the table.  
He made a fresh pot of tea and carried a second cup and milk and sugar into the living room.  
For a moment, he looked around. Then he prepared the sofa a little, straightened the cushions.  
He ventilated the room, because somehow it smelled of sickness, because of the cold ointment and the stale air.  
A quarter of an hour later he found the air fresh enough.  
He wiped over the coffee table again.

Then he went out across the hallway, rang the doorbell of his old neighbour and asked her for some of the homemade cookies she always had in the house. She gladly gave them to him and smiled.  
"A date?" she asked curiously.  
Greg shook his head vigorously.  
"Just... ...sick call."  
The old lady smiled knowingly, but said nothing more.

Greg arranged the cookies on a pretty bowl and placed them on the living room table.  
In doing so, he realized that what he was doing here must actually look to an outsider as if he was waiting for a date.  
Yes, he couldn't deny he was hoping Mycroft would actually come.  
He was waiting for him.

Looking forward to it.


	6. professional

When it rang at Greg's apartment door, he had jumped off the sofa like lightning and rushed to the door, despite the fact that he was still not really well.  
He opened it with a vengeance and... and looked into the business-like face of Mycroft's assistant, Anthea.  
"Oh, good afternoon," he stammered. "Come in, please."  
Anthea shook her head.  
"No," she said. "I've got to run along. I've brought you this on behalf of Mr Holmes."  
And she handed him a bag with more juicy oranges in it.  
"Also, he asked me to ask if there is anything else you require."  
Greg shook his head.  
"No, thank you..."  
But then he swallowed and started again.  
"Would you ask Mr. Holmes... would you tell him I'm going to have to...“  
He needed a moment. Then he went on quietly.  
"…that I would be delighted to see him?“  
He looked at Anthea rather uncertainly.  
She smiled.  
"I will," she said. "And get well soon."  
And off she was, gone down the stairs again.

Greg shuffled over to his kitchen and put the oranges into the fruit bowl. Then he took the small juicer from the kitchen cupboard and a glass. He cut two oranges open and squeezed the juice out of them. He disposed of the peels, wiped over the kitchen table and went back to the living room with the glass in his hand.  
While he drank the vitamin-rich drink in small sips, he felt the disappointment overpowering him.  
Yes, Holmes had thought of him and continued to give him his care in the form of oranges. But he had not come himself.  
And that, Greg had to admit, hurt him. He was hoping, wishing, perhaps Mycroft had enjoyed his visit a little bit... Aw man, the more he thought about it, the more he had to admit he hoped for more than just the other man's care.  
He wished... oh, damn it.

Greg was stretched out on the couch.  
He wondered if he should try the TV show again.  
He turned the TV back on and got stuck with a movie.  
An old one, just right for slipping back into sleep.

…

Mycroft Holmes was sitting over some files again and tried to concentrate and as so often in the last time he did not succeed. And like every time, a certain DI was to blame for this.  
A certain DI, who unknowingly distracted him from his work.  
Mycroft wondered if it had been right to burst in on Lestrade yesterday.  
He had got the impression that the man was completely overwhelmed by his presence.  
He hadn't turned him out, but on the other hand he hadn't been too happy about it either, had he? Well, as a matter of fact, he hadn't said much. More a bit of a stammer.  
But on the other hand, he had a fever, too, and maybe that's why he hadn't been in control of his senses.  
Mycroft, who was a master in deducing his fellow human beings, and who was so keen on his knowledge of human nature, had to realize that in this case he could not even assess the situation.  
Even though he usually did not allow feelings to get to him, he was worlds ahead of his brother Sherlock in recognising and assessing the feelings of his fellow human beings.  
But in this particular point his abilities to do so obviously failed completely.

This was probably simply because he himself was emotionally involved. Yes, whether he liked it or not, he knew that he could not get out of it either. And, what was even more serious, he didn't want to.  
He liked the DI.  
He liked him a lot.  
No, that wasn't true.  
Okay, Mycroft, he thought, get to the point and be honest with yourself. You're on the verge of falling in love with him.

Well, then the question was, did he want it to be more than that? Did he want it to be... a relationship?  
Oh, my God, yes. It had been forever since he had last loved, and it had ended painfully. But still.  
For some reason, he trusted the DI. Gregory. Trusted him not to hurt him.

Yes, he did.  
Right, so the next question.  
Was there any chance that Gregory Lestrade would want something similar?  
And this was the point where he just didn't know what to do.  
He was now annoyed at having chickened out and sent Anthea to him instead of going to him himself.  
He sighed.

There was a knock at the door of his office.  
"Come in?"  
Anthea entered the room.  
"Mr Holmes," she nodded at him. "I'm back and at your disposal again."  
"Good."  
In his eyes were a thousand questions.  
He wondered if she noticed.  
He took a breath, and at least he asked one question.  
"How is he?"  
"He seems exhausted. A cold like this is hard on the body and mind. He was pleased with the oranges.“  
"Did you ask him if he needed anything else?"  
"Yes, I did.“  
Mycroft waited. What was wrong with her, it wasn't like you had to pull every word out of her one by one.  
"Well, Anthea?“  
She smiled.  
"No, he doesn't need anything," she said, "Just..."  
"Yes? Anthea, come on, speak up."

"He said he'd be delighted if you came and saw him."


	7. curious

It was about seven when the bell rang again.  
Greg's heart started beating.  
He went to the door, but this time at a normal pace, and tried to calm down. Or more precisely, to convince himself that it wouldn't be the expected, hoped-for visit anyway, to keep the disappointment within limits. Probably the neighbour or someone had misplaced the bell button.  
It opened, and outside the door was truly and really Mycroft Holmes.

Greg's heart was beating a bit faster.  
He couldn't help putting a big, happy smile on his face.  
"Good evening, Mr Holmes. Do come in.“  
He stepped aside and let his visitor in.  
Mycroft Holmes entered the flat. Greg took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack.  
"Let's go into the living room," Greg said, and went ahead.  
He sat down on the sofa and told Holmes to sit in the armchair.

They were both awkwardly silent. Neither of them knew exactly what to say.  
"Well, I..." Holmes began.  
"It's nice." Greg started talking to him at the same time.  
Again they were silent.  
Greg stopped for breath.  
"Mr. Holmes, I'm glad you finally decided to come and see me in person.“  
The other one nodded.  
"I wanted to check on you... make sure you were feeling better.“

At that moment, Greg noticed that there was still a second cup on the table. He hadn't put it away earlier. He blushed.  
Mycroft noticed the cup, of course, and Greg's reaction. He realised what it meant.  
My God, he thought, sitting here, like teenagers on their very first date... I feel like I'm 16 right now.  
"May I ask if there's any tea left in the pot, and if so, do you feel able to offer me some tea, DI Lestrade?" he asked.  
Greg jumped up and pushed his knee against the table, making the dishes clink.  
"No, I’m out of tea, but of course..."  
"Please don't get up. I'll make some more tea. I know where your kitchen is.“  
Mycroft put his hand on Greg's shoulder, gently pushed him back onto the sofa.  
"You're still ill, after all, and need to rest.“

Gregory let it happen, with no resistance.  
He was far too captivated by the touch.  
It had felt so good. Holmes' warm, gentle hand on his shoulder. It tickles where he had touched him and Greg closed his eyes to feel the wonderful sensation.  
And at that moment at the latest, Greg was also completely clear that he had fallen in love.

They didn't talk about it. They enjoyed the evening, drank their tea together.  
They talked, exchanging thoughts. What music they liked, what films, what books they read, what hobbies they had ("Hobbies? Oh DI Lestrade, my working life won't allow it...") and when the pot was empty, Mycroft prepared a plate of sandwiches for him before he said goodbye and left.

He had promised to come back this time the next day.  
It became naturalised.  
Mycroft phoned in the afternoon to ask what the DI needed. And then he came in the evening, brought what was needed, prepared tea and sat down with Greg in the living room.

As the week went on, Greg gradually improved.  
By Thursday evening he was so far recovered that he forbade Mycroft to go into the kitchen.  
"I'd like to perform my own hosting duties, Mycroft," he said.  
Mycroft smiled.  
"Gladly, DI...“  
But Greg drove into his word.  
"Gregory... If you don't...mind if I just call you Mycroft, then please call me Gregory. Or Greg."  
Mycroft nodded.  
"Gregory,“ he said, looking very pleased.  
They both enjoyed their lessons together. They had many topics of conversation that interested them both and discovered a lot of similarities.

On Friday Greg felt quite well again.  
He was still on sick leave for the weekend; he would really recover and go back to work on Monday.  
There should be clear, frosty weather in the next few days. If that was the case, he would take a few short walks, because cold clear air was good for the respiratory system.  
Perhaps he and Mycroft could... He decided to ask him tonight.  
There was something else he was going to ask him.  
Something that was rather important to him.

As they sat together at tea, it burst out of Gregory:  
"Mycroft, tell me something, why?"  
Mycroft looked at him in amazement.  
"Why what?"  
"Why have you come to me? Have cared for me all these days?"  
Mycroft was silent for a moment.  
Then he said..:  
"Sherlock asked me to."  
"Mycroft, don't take me for a fool. You don't usually jump off the handle when Sherlock asks you to do something."  
"Sherlock did ask me to do it. But the reason I agreed to his request is because I care about you.“  
And to his amazement, Greg felt Mycroft gently put his hand on his.

Mycroft's heart was beating in his throat.  
It took him a few seconds to realise that Gregory was not pulling his hand away, but was simply looking at him with big, coffee-brown eyes.  
...and put a smile on his face.  
Then he heard Gregory's voice softly.  
"I care for you too, Mycroft."

Greg took a breath, looked at the man opposite and said..:  
"I... I want to ask you something else."


	8. heartily

He took a deep breath.  
"I'd like to ask you... would you... I would like to..."  
He coughed and then burst out:  
"Oh for fuck's sake, Mycroft, how do one ask someone as special as you for a date?!"  
Mycroft swallowed.  
"You... ..you want a date? With me?!"  
Gregory nodded.  
"Yes. So, Mycroft, can I ask you out? Or am I making a complete fool of myself...

Mycroft's eyes sparkled.  
He hesitated for a moment, and finally he replied:  
"No."  
Greg lowered his eyes.  
"Oh, then... ..I'm sorry. Then I must have completely misinterpreted your care. I'm sorry, so let's just forget..."  
"Gregory!"  
He could feel Mycroft's hand closing a bit tighter round his.  
"You've got me wrong. No means no - you're not making a fool of yourself. I'd very much like a date with you."

Greg was beaming. His heart was pounding.  
Now he had to laugh at himself.  
"I'm acting like a schoolboy," he said. The corners of Mycroft's mouth twitched upwards as well.  
"Well," Greg said, "I'm not quite ready to go out yet. But I'd like you to come back to mine tomorrow night and I'll cook for both of us. I can cook pretty good. I would be happy to do that for you."  
He looked at Mycroft, almost pleading.  
Mycroft nodded and smiled.  
"I'd love to, Gregory. I'm looking forward to it."  
It took a load off Greg's mind.

The next day was a Saturday.  
Greg dressed warmly after breakfast and walked through the clear, cold winter air to the nearby weekly market to shop.  
He wanted to make pasta. After all, everyone liked Italian food.  
He decided to make Spaghetti alla Puttanesca, a dish simple enough to be prepared so that he couldn't do much wrong or spoil in the excitement; yet sophisticated enough to be suitable for a date. A simple leaf salad and a good wine to go with it; an espresso to finish, he thought, he still had to look for the espresso maker, but it must be buried somewhere in the depths of the kitchen cupboard.

So while he carefully selected the vegetables and tasted and then bought more ingredients at the Italian deli booth, he went over everything he needed. He would buy pasta in a small osteria nearby, it was handmade there and also sold outside the house. And Greg knew that it was the high quality of the individual ingredients that made the result delicious, especially with rather simple dishes.

Yes, he was looking forward to the evening.  
He wanted it to be something special. His first official date with Mycroft Holmes.  
Back home, he began searching for and found the espresso machine. Good.  
It was only noon; he still had time. And he realised that he was trudging through the flat restlessly, like a child waiting for Father Christmas. The clock seemed to stop, time was slowly ticking away.

Finally it was time to start the preparations.  
First he prepared the salad dressing and put it in the fridge.  
Then he cut the salad, washed it, spun it and put it in a suitable bowl.  
His hands worked safely and quickly and his thoughts were with his visitor.  
He imagined preparing dinner for Mycroft, who came home from work... Home to him, Greg... the idea warmed his heart. He shook, once again, his head over himself.  
But he could no longer deny it. He wanted more from the man than just casual friendship or anything.  
He wanted something to develop from the dating and visiting. A partnership. A life together. He could tell he was turning red.

So let's get on with it. Slice tomatoes.  
Chop capers and anchovies, also chili, olives and basil.  
Crush the garlic.  
Put the pot for the pasta on.  
And now?  
As the water began to boil, he decided to wait with the rest until Mycroft got there. ...so he could prepare everything to the point.

Just in time, as arranged, Mycroft rang the doorbell.  
Greg opened it.  
"Come in, I'm glad you're here."  
"I'm pleased to be here too," said Mycroft and to Greg's greatest surprise, he leaned over and gave Greg a tender kiss on the lips.  
He froze immediately and looked at Greg in a somewhat uncertain manner.  
Mycroft Holmes, insecure. Greg thought he'd live to see this, and smiled.  
"Oh, was that too quick?" Mycroft asked, making an apologetic gesture with his hand.  
"No", said Greg. "It was just surprising. But lovely."  
Then he smiled.  
"I don't know if I'm still contagious."  
Mycroft smiled too.  
"My dear Gregory, if you'll nurse me then it will be worth it."  
Now they both had to laugh. It was a happy, liberating laugh. It did them both good.

In the kitchen Mycroft sat down at the table and watched Gregory work.  
He was fascinated by the nimble, dexterous, sure-footed movements of the other. You could see that Greg knew what he was doing, and since Mycroft knew so little about cooking, it was an interesting spectacle for him.  
Finally, Greg cleaned the table, prepared the cutlery, plates and wine glasses, and the parmesan cheese with the little grater.  
Then he placed the salad bowl in front of Mycroft and asked him to add the dressing on top and to mix it.  
Mycroft rolled up his shirt sleeves and got to work.  
He enjoyed it, and he was ready when Greg put the bowl of pasta mixed with sauce on the table as well and said cheerfully:  
"Buon apetito, Signore Holmes."


	9. happy

Greg filled their plates and salad bowls while Mycroft poured the wine. They grated fresh Parmesan cheese over their pasta and started eating.  
It tasted very good, and Mycroft could not help but make a kind of pleasurable moan. Greg grinned happily.  
"Oh, Gregory, this is excellent. If you ever want to give up your job at New Scotland Yard, I'll fire my cook."  
"Well," Greg said softly, "if I'm honest, I'd rather take another job. which I hope is vacant."  
He lowered his eyes.  
Hopefully that hadn't been too forward now. It was simply difficult for him to judge how brave or rather careful he should proceed.

Mycroft took a deep breath.  
"You mean the part as my partner?“ he said, softly.  
Gregory nodded.  
Gregory nodded!  
Gregory seriously wanted to be with him!  
"Gregory, I would very, very much like to have you as my partner by my side."  
His counterpart beamed.  
"But, you know, I'm not an easy person to get along with.“  
"Oh, Mycroft... I'm not easy either. But we can talk about it after dinner. I'd hate for this pasta to get cold.“  
They enjoyed it, and it was so delicious, they both had a second helping.

After dinner, Greg filled espresso powder and water into the little hell machine and put it on the smallest gas flame of his stove.  
And as the thing began to hiss softly, he turned to Mycroft.  
"So now we are... ..a couple?"  
Mycroft swallowed. A pleasant shiver ran down his skin.  
"If you want this as much as I do, then yes, we are now a couple.“  
"Christ, I want that so much !“  
Greg turned down the gas flame and came to his friend.  
He bent over and put his lips gently on the other's.

Mycroft was surprised for a moment, but then he kissed him back.  
Moving his lips, he let himself in completely. And before they knew it, he'd pulled Gregory into his lap. He was a bit taken aback at first, but then he began to enjoy the closeness.  
It felt wonderful. Mycroft's lips were soft and warm, and tasted sort of spicy.  
They were both startled by the kiss when the espresso maker started to sizzle loudly. Greg rushed to the stove, at this stage it was wise to watch that thing a bit.  
Finally, he turned off the flame and divided the espresso into two tiny cups, adjusted the sugar and added two tiny silver spoons.

When the little cups were empty, Greg took his partner by the hand, pulled him into the living room and dragged him to the sofa.  
Then he fetched their wine glasses from the kitchen and poured more wine.  
They looked into each other's eyes.  
"Gregory... ...I'm really not easy. You know, I've been called a cold bitch.“  
"Bullshit.“  
"No, please, let me finish. It's true, this coldness is a mask I'm going to put back on the moment I leave your apartment. There are very few people who know me differently.  
But the mania of wanting to control; everything that Sherlock says about me, well, he's not completely wrong; I'm also complicated and I can't do anything with the many things and pleasures that normal people deal with..."  
"You mean people like me?"  
"Oh, Greg, I didn't mean to offend you."  
"Hey, it's okay. You're right. I'm so not like you. I'm so... normal. Just... normal. Simple compared to you. What fascinates me about you is exactly what you just described: this mixture of the extremely well-versed and clever, perhaps even ice-cold politician who plays on the highest diplomatic parquet, and the warm-hearted person I have the chance to meet and discover. Which I consider a great privilege. But, uh... what do I have to offer you?"

"Gregory, you are not at all... you are very special to me."  
Mycroft took his hands again.  
"You're down-to-earth, generous, loyal, supportive... ...and you are the only person in the world, I would trust with my heart, unconditionally and without hesitation.“  
Wow.  
Now Greg was really flashing.  
His face turned red with joy and he was speechless.

They held hands and slid a little closer together.  
Gently, Mycroft put one arm around Gregory, slowly, so that he would have been able to withdraw from the embrace at any time.  
But Greg did not. On the contrary, he enjoyed it very much.  
And once again, their lips met in a kiss.  
And finally their tongues met and danced intensely around each other.  
As they parted again, Mycroft snorted:  
... "Heavens, Greg, it's wonderful!"  
Greg was beaming...

They spent the evening kissing and cuddling.  
Very gentle, very careful, almost shy, one might say.  
They both just wanted to take their time and take it easy.  
After all, they had all the time in the world.

By the time Mycroft said goodbye, it was late.  
He was holding Greg's hands in his when he said:  
"Gregory, I'm glad you're down with the flu. I don't think I could have managed to take the plunge and walk towards you without it."  
Greg nodded with a smile.  
"And without the fever and the cotton wool in my head, I couldn't have managed to say that I'm glad you came... so you're right. Without the flu, you and I still wouldn't be a couple."  
He smiled broadly.  
"So now I finally know what lovesick means!"  
Mycroft looked at him with baffled eyes. Then they both laughed.

They kissed again and it felt wonderful.  
Like the start of something big and beautiful.  
And that's exactly what it was.  
A beginning.


	10. right

The next few weeks were a bit complicated.  
Mycroft's work had piled up because he'd spent so much time with Greg.  
And Greg's desk was also piled high with unsolved cases. As a result, they didn't get many opportunities to meet.  
But when they did meet, it was beautiful, and they enjoyed every minute of it.

Until now, they had not gone beyond kissing and cuddling. Even if Sherlock, who of course knew about it, he was Sherlock after all! So even if he once again drew the comparison with the Victorian girls and infuriated Mycroft, it was simply because they did not want to rush into anything. They were grown men and had had their experiences; but this one, the one between them, was special. They were both serious about it. And that's why they didn't feel like having sex quickly; that's why they wanted to discover everything with each other slowly, enjoyably and calmly.  
It had been two months since they had been together, and now spring was spreading its fingers to London, and today, that Friday evening, Mycroft was going to come and stay with Greg for the weekend. It was the first time they were going to spend the night together.

It was after six, and Gregory was preparing dinner.  
He had just received a text message saying, "Be with you in half an hour" and a happy big grin came over his face. He whirled through the kitchen and felt a cheerfulness within himself that was really good for his soul.  
He began to sing to himself.  
Hell, he was just looking forward to his friend.  
He laid the table, shook the roast potatoes, took the meatloaf out of the oven, put the flame out that heated the beans and hoped that nothing would happen to stop Mycroft coming.

When the doorbell rang, he rushed to the door and fell around Mycroft's neck.  
"Hey," the other one laughed, "you're nearly knocking me down!"  
"I'm just down knocking gorgeous," Greg mumbled into the kiss he gave his lover.  
Mycroft smiled.  
Yes, Gregory was indeed. Gorgeous.  
...the obvious, honest pleasure of seeing him did him good. It warmed his heart. Since he had his Gregory, he had found a balance and contentment in his life that he had never thought possible. And it had only been a few weeks. He sighed contentedly.  
Yes, this was something serious, and even though it was probably much too early to think about it after such a short time, he had the feeling and the hope that this could last a long, very long time. Perhaps a whole life long.  
For him, at any rate, it was a wonderful performance.

After Greg had released Mycroft from his stormy embrace, he had already gone back to the kitchen to put the food on the table.  
He filled their plates and set out two bottles of beer.  
Well, beer had never been Mycroft's thing. But since Gregory admittedly didn't really know much about wine, and he didn't always have the opportunity to get a suitable wine and make sure he was treated properly, he had come to terms with it, or over it. And if he was honest, it didn't taste that bad. In Gregory's presence he could even get used to it.

Mycroft had hung his coat on the cloakroom wall and left his bag in the hall for the time being.  
He came into the kitchen to his darling, sat down contentedly at the table and they began to eat. And again he discovered that Gregory was a really good cook.  
He had been exhausted and tired when he arrived here. But now, in Greg's kitchen, near Greg, he was much better.

"Gregory?"  
"Yes?"  
"When I come to you, after such a hard week, and am welcomed so lovingly, and on top of that, am treated with good food, with the cosiness of your kitchen, and with the fact that you are with me. It feels like..."  
He took a deep breath.  
"...like coming home."  
Greg was beaming.  
That was the nicest thing Mycroft had ever said to him. It meant more to him than just the reassurances that his grey hair was sweet, his brown eyes deep and beautiful and his bottom was extremely sexy.  
Though he had no objection to the compliments he had received from his boyfriend, of course.  
"Thank you, Myke, that..."  
He swallowed.  
He called him Myke for the first time.

Mycroft sucked the air in by surprise.  
It had been a long, long time since anyone had’nt called him by his full name. A long, long time ago...  
Apart from his mother, but she didn't count for that.  
And to his own surprise he discovered that he liked it.  
He smiled at Gregory and took his hand.  
Greg had lowered his head unsteadily.  
As he felt Mycroft gently stroke his hand with his thumb, he looked up and saw in his friend's eyes that the nickname was okay.  
He breathed a sigh of relief.

Gregory had also been to Mycroft’s. However, he had found it difficult to feel comfortable there. The house was, well Greg had put it this way, "swank."  
That didn't suit him, and the fact that a butler, or whatever he was called, was taking care of everything made him uncomfortable.  
Myke had sensed that and they had talked about it. It wasn't easy for Myke. To realize that what he felt was a convenience, Greg felt rather uncomfortable. But he finally accepted it, and so they had been seeing each other at Greg’s ever since.  
And now he had to admit that he now felt Greg's apartment was more like home than his own luxurious house.

He helped Greg clean up.  
When the dishes were in the dishwasher, he suddenly felt like he was tossed around and pressed against the kitchen cupboard.  
Then he was wildly kissed.  
He felt his friend's desire and his own desire grew too, and it was clear that today was the first time something more would happen.  
It felt just right.


	11. honest

They kissed furiously until Greg finally released the kiss and breathed into Mycroft's ear:  
"Come on, I've put clean sheets on my bed," and then dragged him behind him.  
It was, in fact, the first time Mycroft had entered Greg's bedroom.  
Greg slammed the door behind them. Then he sat down on the bed.  
"Undress for me, my darling. I want to look at you."  
Mycroft swallowed.  
That's a first too.  
And incidentally, he realised that he quite liked Greg being so controlling and taking charge.

Greg looked at his friend expectantly. The tip of his tongue moved excitedly back and forth in the corner of his mouth, and that made Mycroft smile. Like a kitten seeing the cream jar, he thought. And cute. Just cute.  
He began to unbutton his jacket. Slowly, bit by bit he undressed, taking his time, pretending that the one or other button resisted his fingers. Well, his fingers trembled a little under the covetous looks of his beloved, so he didn't have to act that much.  
And one look was enough to see that Gregory was not indifferent to this performance. The tight jeans he wore, in which his butt undoubtedly looked damn hot, bulged out quite a bit.  
Mycroft grinned.  
When he finally stood there completely naked and bare, Gregory jumped up and tried to grab him. He was given a loving slap on the wrist.  
"No," Myke said and threatened him lovingly with his finger.  
"Now you."

Gregory didn't stay that long. Mycroft saw to his surprise that Greg was wearing nothing but jeans and a shirt. ...just those two pieces of clothing. It made him swallow hard.  
And these two pieces lay carelessly on the floor in no time at all, so that they could now both admire each other's bodies for the first time without any disturbing accessories. They saw themselves completely naked for the first time.  
"You are beautiful," whispered Mycroft as he pulled Gregory towards him. ...who made a noise that sounded like a purr.  
They held each other, pressed against each other, and felt that they wanted each other.

Greg pulled him to the bed. Pushed him on it, followed him, lay down next to him and snuggled up to him again. They both enjoyed feeling each other, stroking each other's skin, kissing. Myke nibbled at Gregory's earlobe, kissed his neck gently; Gregory "purred" again.  
Their lips met in a kiss, wild and tender at once.  
Their erections rubbed against each other, they were both rock hard.  
It was exciting and new; it felt wonderful.  
"Myke," Greg moaned, "Myke, I'm hot for you, you know, and my God, I... I love you."

Mycroft shivered.  
That was the first time he heard Gregory say those words.  
It went deep into his soul.  
That this man, this kind, loving, so loyal and helpful, this so normal man loved him, the stone-cold politician, the extremely complicated man.  
It drove tears into his eyes and he only managed to control his voice with great difficulty.  
And so it sounded pretty croaky when he answered:  
"Gregory, I love you too."

Gregory pulled him even closer, and her kisses grew wilder.  
They rubbed against each other even more violently until Greg moaned:  
"Oh, Myke, I can't take it anymore. "I just can't..."  
And he came, and out of the depths of his throat came a passionately rough sound.  
Mycroft could not hold on any longer, he was carried away by Greg's passion and he came too, and little stars danced before his eyes.

They held each other in their arms even further.  
It took them both a while to catch their breath.

"Gregory... ...did you... ...mean it?"  
"What?"  
"You love me?"  
Greg sat up and looked at him with surprise.  
"Yes, of course, Myke."  
"But... I am who I am, and there's not so much lovable about me …“  
"Stop!"  
Myke looked at Greg with big eyes.

Greg snorted.  
"Now listen carefully. You've shown me so much these past few weeks, what's behind the Iceman's facade. So much warmth. Caring. So much loving humanity. And that, my dear, is something not many people know. I'm allowed to know it. It makes me happy and proud. And, yes, I mean that sincerely. I love you. And I never want to hear anything so silly from you again."  
And Greg gave him a pat on the ass. And a kiss.

"I love you, too, Gregory, and I mean it, too. You're the first person to touch my soul like this. I want to be with you and never let you go."

Gregory sensed that there were reasons Myke didn't think himself lovable enough  
And he vowed to himself to find out. Because what Myke showed him when they were together was very lovable, and more than that.  
And yes, he loved him and he just lost his heart to that man.  
Well, he would help him regain his self-esteem.  
Greg was smiling.  
"You rule a kingdom and prevent wars and save whole countries from ruin, but you've neglected your own soul life quite a bit, haven't you?"  
Myke smiled at him.  
"Now I have you."  
"Yes, now you have me."  
And Greg kissed his lover again wildly and passionately until they both couldn't breathe.


	12. ailing

Gregory woke up, and he didn't know what happened. Outside it was still pitch dark, and the alarm clock hadn't rung either, after all it was Saturday and he was off duty.  
And he heard panting and wheezing beside him. Immediately afterwards a cough.  
His hand felt for the bedside lamp. As the subtle light lit up the bedroom a little, he saw that Mycroft was not in good condition.  
He was covered in sweat. His hair clung to his skin. His nose seemed blocked, or at least he sniffed as if he couldn't breathe.  
"Lord dear," Greg said startled and carefully touched his friend's forehead.  
"Good heavens, Myke, you're burning up."

Myke next to him didn't notice. But he was trembling.  
Gregory swung his legs out of bed.  
He went into the kitchen to get a bottle of water. He looked to see if there were any of those pills that John had prescribed for him a few weeks ago. No, he'd emptied the box. Well, maybe it was better not to go play doctor on his own anyway.  
There were still lozenges for his throat, cold ointment and tea.  
He took a blanket from the living room and brought the water and the blanket to Myke. He was still asleep, but he rolled restlessly back and forth, coughing and sneezing in his sleep.

Greg began to worry. That didn't look good. Myke felt hot and seemed to be freezing at the same time.  
He put the blanket over him and put the water on the bedside table. Then he went back and prepared a thermos of herbal tea. Put some honey in it and went back to the bedroom. What time was it? Five thirty.  
Greg set his alarm for 8:00, then he was going to call John. Eight o'clock was a decent time, and the doctor would certainly be awake, or at least responsive.

He tried to sleep again. But he couldn't. He worried too much about the obviously sick man at his side. A few weeks ago, he had been taking such loving care of him, Greg. Greg smiled. If it weren't for his cold, they probably still wouldn't have gotten together.  
Well, it seamed Myke had gotten it himself.  
Well, he could give him all that loving care back now.  
He was dozing a little bit.  
The next time he looked at the clock, it was a quarter past seven.  
Anyway, he thought John wasn't going to tear my head off. So he picked up his cell phone and dialed the doctor's number.

It rang.  
"Watson," his good friend's sleepy voice came out of the phone.  
"Hello, John. Sorry, did I wake you?"  
"No, Greg. Sherlock kicked me out of bed about an hour ago because he was ... Oh, you don't want to know."  
Greg smiled. No, he probably didn't, actually.  
"Greg, what can I do for you... Sherlock! No! Stop it! Give me back my phone. Give me my phone back“  
"Greg heard Sherlock's voice on his phone. "Have you finally slept with my brother yet?“  
"Sherlock...“  
Greg heard noises like a scuffle.  
Finally, John was back on the phone.  
"I'm sorry, Greg. Sherlock just took my phone. but I'm sure he'll live to regret it.“  
There's a giggle in the background.  
A "Well, I hope so, dear Doctor..."  
"Sherlock!" John shouted, but he didn't sound very mad.  
Greg was smiling. Those two.

"So, Greg, why are you calling me at this time of day? Has something happened?"  
"Well," Greg said, slightly embarrassed, even though John and Sherlock now knew that he and Myke…  
"Mycroft's with me. And it looks like he's caught it now. He's all sweaty and coughing and sneezing and, most importantly, he seems to have a pretty high fever. Can you please come and check on him?"  
John was in doctor mode immediately.  
"If he's asleep, let him sleep. If he wakes up, make sure he drinks enough. Keep him warm, but not too warm. I still have to shower and get dressed. I'll be with you in an hour."  
"Thanks, John."

Greg was checking on Mycroft. He was still asleep.  
Warm but not too warm, John had said. So he took the second blanket off again.  
And that was when Mycroft awoke. His eyelids fluttered and then he looked at Greg with glassy eyes.  
"Gregory," he croaked.  
"Shhh..." Greg did.  
"It seems, Myke, you are now lovesick." He smiled.  
Mycroft tried to smile back. It ended in a coughing fit.  
Greg held him down until he could breathe again.  
"Thirsty," Myke moaned.  
Greg nodded.  
He poured a glass of water. He helped Mycroft to sit up and held it out to him. He drank a few sips.  
"Thank you."

"John will be here soon," Gregory said.  
"He will look after you, and if he prescribes anything, I will go to the drugstore and get it for you."  
Mycroft shook his head.  
"My driver can bring it," he croaked.  
"Your driver?"  
Greg didn't understand.  
"If... ...he comes for me... give me my phone, please, so I can..."  
Now Greg understood.  
"That's not gonna happen. You are not going to cruise trough half of London in this condition. As long as you're in that state, you're staying with me. I'll take care of you. Do you understand?"

Mycroft looked at him with a warm look.  
"You'll do this for me?  
"Of course I do. When I tell you I love you, I don't just mean the sunshine. Then that's part of it, too. Besides, I wouldn't have a moment's peace. I worry about you when you're not feeling well, you know?"  
Mycroft let himself sink back into the pillow.  
"Thank you," he croaked.

Yes, Gregory was a stroke of luck.


	13. panic

"Gregory, will you help me a little? I need to use the bathroom."  
Myke tried to sit up. He started coughing again and when he came up with his chest he got dizzy. His circulation was really down.  
Greg helped him up, he was really shaky on his feet.  
Greg took him into the bathroom and then went back into the hallway but stopped at the door.  
"Don't lock the door," he said.  
"Mmm," came from Myke.  
One could hear that he wasn't quite himself.

Greg heard the sound of the toilet flushing and was now waiting for the tap to flush by the sink. But instead there was a loud rumble.  
Shocked, he tore open the door and saw Mycroft lying on the floor.  
"Shit, Myke!"  
He knelt beside him. Myke was unconscious. Greg checked his pulse, it was rapid and his breathing was okay.  
Now what?  
At that moment, the bell rang.  
Thank God, that must be John.  
Greg rushed to the door.

In fact, Dr Watson was standing in front of it.  
"John, I'm glad you're here. Myke's collapsed on me."  
Greg grabbed John's arm and pulled him behind him.

John examined Mycroft briefly, then he took his phone and called an ambulance.  
He gave a brief description of the symptoms and anything Greg could tell him. Then he hung up.  
"Greg", he said, "You go downstairs and show the paramedics the way. I'll stay with Mycroft. We'll get him to hospital. Does he have stuff here with you? So you can pack him some stuff?"  
"No", said Greg, who was now pale as a sheet.  
"But he brought a bag yesterday, I'm sure he left some things in it, since he spent the night."  
"Okay," said the doctor, "you'd better run downstairs. The ambulance should be here soon."  
Greg did what he said. He was really grateful that John was able to stay calm and keep track of the situation. Having a doctor for a best buddy was a good thing.

While Greg waited downstairs, John had put Mycroft in recovery position and called Sherlock. He told him what was going on and asked him to contact Anthea.  
"Don't even try it, I know for a fact that you once stole Mycroft's mobile phone and returned it to him before he noticed, and that you wrote down Anthea's number among other things. Call her. Tell her to send Mycroft's car. Me and Greg can get to the hospital with ist faster than with the tube. After all, we're not relatives, so we can't travel in the ambulance car."  
"I will," Sherlock said, "but I'd like you to come and fetch me too."  
John had to smile despite everything.  
No matter how much the two brothers argued with each other. When the chips were down, they were there for each other and could no longer deny that they cared.

Before long, the ambulance was there.  
They put the still unconscious Mycroft on a stretcher and took him downstairs while John gave a brief indication of his condition; then the car whizzed away.  
A short time later, Mycroft's limousine was in front of them. Again Greg was grateful that John was there and had organised this.  
They got in and collected Sherlock first.  
Greg was bursting with impatience. But of course he could understand that the detective also wanted to know how his brother was doing, and that was the fastest way to get ahead.

Arriving at the hospital, John went ahead and by virtue of his medical authority they were shortly after in the waiting area in front of the examination room.  
While John left Greg and Sherlock sitting there with coffee mugs, he went about finding out more.

A short time later he came back and sat down with them.  
"Well," he said.  
"Mycroft's down with the flu, a real viral flu. And it looks like he's been struggling with it for a couple of days now, but instead of going to bed and getting better he suppressed the symptoms with medication and just kept working. Until his body just wouldn't work anymore and shut down."  
"Phh," snorted Sherlock. "That's typical."  
"When he arrived, he was very tired and exhausted," Greg said softly. "But I've been putting it off for a particularly trying week at work."  
John put his hand on Greg's arm to cheer him up.  
"He is now on an antipyretic and circulation-stabilising drip," explained John.

"John," Greg said in a trembling voice. "The flu... ...people die."  
"Yes," said John. "But Mycroft is in the best hands here now. He can do this, Greg."  
Greg was blinking his eyes.  
He could feel tears building up.  
E grabbed John's arm...  
"I...we've only just found each other. I don't want to lose him again..."  
And he felt a tear run down his cheek.  
"I'm scared shitless.“

At that moment it was Sherlock who surprised them all.  
He turned to Gregory and pulled him into a hug.  
"Listen, brother-in-law," he said. "Mycroft is strong. He can do this. And we must be strong now, and believe in him. ...all right?"  
"Yes," Greg said. "Thanks."  
Sherlock patted him on the back and released the hug.  
Sherlock listened to himself. It felt good to admit his concern for his brother and he felt that he and Greg were now closer. That was good. Yeah, he liked that.

A nurse came up to her.  
"You belong to Mr. Holmes? Are you related?"  
"I'm his brother," Sherlock said.  
"Then come," she said, "you may visit your brother. I'm not allowed to take more than one visitor to him, I'm sorry," she said, addressing the other two.  
Sherlock had stood up, but then he hesitated for a moment.  
"Then DI Lestrade should go with you," he said. "He's Mr Holmes' partner."  
Again, he had surprised the others.  
"Thank you," Greg said and left with the nurse.

John turned to Sherlock and smiled lovingly at him.  
Sherlock looked uncertain.  
"I... ..exaggerated?"  
"No, Sherlock, you did exactly the right thing. I love you."   
And then the doctor kissed his loved one tenderly and hard, and it was a good thing they were alone in the waiting room.


	14. adventurous

A bit of Johnlock today. But in the next chapter, Greg and Myke continue.  
DieLadi  
_____________________

Greg stayed. All day, he sat at Mycroft's bedside. He wanted to be there when Myke woke up. Even when he was told that it wouldn't happen today and that he should please go home to sleep, he didn't even think about it. He pulled a chair up to the hospital bed and decided to sleep in a sitting position with his head on his arms if necessary.

Sherlock and John had Mycroft's car take them home. Anthea had told them that they could use the car however they needed it, they and of course DI Lestrade. Surely Mr. Holmes wouldn't mind.  
Back at Baker Street, John was making tea. It was about noon.  
As he pressed a cup into Sherlock's hands, the man looked at him with those beautiful eyes of his.

"John?"  
"Yes?  
"He's going to be okay, isn't he?“  
There was a mixture of pleading and childlike trust in his gaze that made John swallow.  
"Yes," he said. "Mycroft will do it. I'm sure he will."  
Sherlock nodded.  
"Thank you, John," he said. "I am aware that you cannot, of course, look into the future; just as you cannot, despite all your medical knowledge, make a hundred per cent prognosis; and brother-in-law Greg is right when he says that people can die from flu. But your encouragement helps me anyway. It does me good, even if it's illogical..."  
He couldn't speak any further because John closed his mouth with a kiss.

"That has nothing to do with logic, my dearest one," he said, when he had solved the kiss.  
"That my words of encouragement are good for you may have something to do with the fact that you like me a little bit?"  
"Oh John!"  
Sherlock looked at him as if he'd said something exceptionally stupid.  
"I don't like you just a little bit, I love you! I know I'm no good at these interpersonal things. But that I love you, Doctor, that I know for sure."  
John smiled.  
"Well, then it's just as well that I like you just a little bit, too!"  
"Gnrrr!", Sherlock did in his beautiful, deep voice, just knocking over the Doctor, who had his back to the sofa. Then he squatted over him, literally pushed him into the soft cushions and kissed him stormy.  
And the thought that shot through John's mind before they started to cuddle wildly and his head drifted off into faraway places was: "Well, then I managed to distract him a little from his worries.“

Later, as they lay side by side, now in the bedroom, sweaty and hot and deeply satisfied, Sherlock said:  
"Tell me, John, what happens when you're seriously ill?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Well, I probably wouldn't get any information from the doctors, seeing as we're not related, would I?"  
John thought for a moment.  
"Yes," he said. "Well, they wouldn't tell you anything just like that."  
He thought for a moment.  
"Sherlock, you've mentioned something important. I think you and I should go to a notary and get proper power of attorney..."  
"Nonsense," hissed Sherlock, "I don't do things halfway."  
And he stormed off.

What was it about him, John thought, did I say something wrong? It wasn't always easy with Sherlock, sometimes he was enraptured by things that were simply made as a normal factual statement; disregarding the fact that he himself was constantly insulting the people around him, both intentionally and unintentionally.  
John sighed, put on a dressing gown and walked towards the living room.  
"Sit in the chair, John," shouted Sherlock to him from the kitchen.  
John did as he was told.  
Sherlock came up to him and smiled at him insecurely.

He stood there indecisively for a moment, and suddenly he went down on his knees before John.  
John gasped for breath in complete surprise.  
"John," said Sherlock, "I don't know how you put up with me every day, and you like to do so. I don't know what I've done to deserve to be allowed to love you and you to love me back. But I do know that I want to do this for the rest of our lives, even if feelings are actually a weakness ... never mind. And I want to be with you when you're sick, and be there for you when you need me."  
He pulled out behind his back a structure that turned out to be a piece of tinfoil that he had twisted into a ring.  
"John Hamish Watson, will you marry me?"

John was stunned.  
He'd expected a lot, but not this.  
He looked at Sherlock with eyes the size of soup plates.  
He swallowed.  
And then there was a glint on his face that spoke of such deep happiness that it made Sherlock happy, too.  
"Yes," he said softly, "Yes, I do."  
And he gave Sherlock a great big hug and a great big kiss.

"Do you really want to be my husband for the rest of our lives, which, because of our adventurous manhunts, will probably not be too long in coming?" Sherlock growled contentedly.  
"Yes, you idiot," growled John, "there's nothing I want more!"  
"Well then, John Hamish Holmes-Watson, let's register for marriage as soon as my brother's recovered, shall we?"  
"Oh yes, William Sherlock Scott Holmes-Watson," whispered John, and was deeply happy.

"Give me your hand," said Sherlock, and as John obeyed, he put on the foil ring.  
"When Mycroft is better, we'll go to the jeweller's and pick out some proper engagement rings. This'll have to do it till then,“ he said.  
John nodded overwhelmingly and swore to himself to keep this ring of simple kitchen foil for the rest of his life and to cherish it.  
And he kissed Sherlock one more time.


	15. responsible

Greg actually stayed at the hospital bed all night. He didn't sleep particularly well, sitting in a chair, his arms crossed over the bed, his head laid on it. It was uncomfortable, and he was more dawdling than he really slept.  
But he wanted to be there when Myke woke up. It was important to him.  
It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that he fell asleep.   
A nurse finally woke him up.  
"Excuse me, sir. I have to take your boyfriend with me now. I must take him for some tests."  
Greg blinked sleepily.  
"Can I wait here in the room?"  
She nodded.  
Mycroft's bed had been moved from the room.  
A few minutes later a young male nurse entered the room and placed a tray on the small table.  
"This is for you, sir. Have a bite to eat. You're not helping your friend if you're going to collapse on your own."  
He gave Greg a friendly nod.  
Greg was grateful. Especially for the big cup of coffee, which tasted surprisingly good. He ate some bread with jam and cheese, and felt it did him good.

An hour later he had got another cup of coffee from the vending machine in the hallway.  
He was sitting at the small table again when the door opened and the bed with Mycroft on it was pushed back into the room.

To Greg's boundless relief he had his eyes open.  
"Hello Greg" he croaked.   
"Myke!"  
He looked at the nurse questioningly.  
She smiled.  
"I'll leave you two alone. Half an hour, DI Lestrade. Then you must go. Mr. Holmes needs rest.“  
And she left the room.  
Greg pulled the chair up to the bed and sat down. He very carefully took Mycroft's hand.   
"Hey," he said.  
"You gave me a right good scare."  
"Sorry," croaked Mycroft.  
"Instead of going to bed and getting some rest, you just swallowed pills and kept going. It was stupid of you."  
"Greg, I can't just lie in bed for a few days, I'm needed..."  
"Nonsense," Gregory scolded me. "Yes, you are needed. I need you. Everything else can wait."   
Mycroft's eyes got very big.  
"You need me?"  
"Yes, Myke. I've fallen in love with you. You just wormed your way into my heart. And if anything happened to you now, if you were gone, my heart would break into pieces, do you understand?"  
Greg was smiling.  
"My God, Myke, I don't think I've ever said anything so corny in my life. And if I did, I've never meant it that seriously before."

Gregory looked fondly at Mycroft.  
"Listen, promise me you'll never do anything so silly again. Or I will personally and single-handedly put you over my knee and spank you, do you understand me?"  
Myke tried smiling.  
"Is that a promise, DI Lestrade?"  
Gregory grinned too, but then his expression got stern.  
"Mycroft Holmes, I'm serious about this. You're not alone now, and that's not just about you any more. When people love each other, they take responsibility for each other. I therefore feel responsible for your well-being. And you are also responsible for my well-being. And I'm not fine if you're unconscious in a hospital bed."

Mycroft swallowed.  
"Gregory, I just...don't seem used to anyone caring that much about me."  
Greg looked at him in surprise.  
"Your family..."  
"Well, our parents always demanded achievement and loved our achievement... at least it felt that way. Maybe they loved Sherlock and me, too, but they didn't show it. And now they're long dead. And my brother... I'm sure he cares about me... but most of the time, he's a master at hiding it.“  
"Friends?"  
"Well...“ Mycroft looked down embarrassed. And Greg realised, there'd never been any friendship like that in Mycroft's world before.  
"But, um... I'm not a first man, am I?“  
"No, Greg. I have loved before. But it was a long time ago, and it wasn't good. Let's not talk about it now."  
Gregory nodded.  
"Well, anyway, Myke, I'm here for you now, and I'm gonna take care of you, okay?"

The room door flew open as Gregory said the last sentence, and Sherlock rushed into the room with John in tow.  
"Brother-in-law Greg, are you aware that you just said that last sentence to Mr. Master Control Freak, Mr. I'm-The-Grey Emperor oft he British Government, Mr. I-Know-Every-Surveillance-Cam-of-Town-London-Personally-And-Speak-to-it -With-Forename, Mr. Frown-at-my-Protective-And-I -Will Curse-Your-Family-Up-to-Seven-Generations-at-least?"

"It's lovely to see you too, brother dear," Mycroft squawked in a weak voice as John rattled "Sherlock!" and Greg couldn't help but giggle.  
Sherlock came to Mycroft's bed.  
"Well," he said, "Nice to see you're on the way to recovery, anyway. John, can we go now?"  
"Sherlock!" scolded John again.  
"Oh, come on," he said. "Look at the pair of them. Surely the kitsch must have been pouring out of this place, and I'm afraid it's going to continue. And I don't want that to happen to me."  
"That could never happen to you, could it?" said John, taking the tinfoil ring out of his coat pocket, turning it back and forth and looking at it pensive.  
"John!" said Sherlock sharply, then swept out of the room.  
John smiled and ran after him.  
Greg and Mycroft looked at them in astonishment.  
But Greg was too fixated on Myke and Mycroft simply too exhausted to interpret the vibrations behind the last scene.


	16. harmonious

It took a few more days for Mycroft to be released from the hospital.  
John and Sherlock had been there a few more times, Gregory had had to go back to work but had cut back a few days, he had enough overtime, God knows, and had turned up at Mycroft's bed every afternoon and stayed until late in the evening.

Today Myke was due to be released.  
He was already dressed; Gregory had taken his bag while the doctor gave him last instructions. And then they left the hospital.  
Outside, Mycroft's car was already waiting. They got in.  
When the car stopped in front of Mycroft's house, and he wanted to get out, Gregory held him back.  
"Please don't get up, Myke. I'll just get some fresh clothes for you, I've just spoken to your butler, he's already packed a bag. And then you're coming back to my place. I've taken the next few days off. And until the end of next week, you're staying with me so you can get some rest."  
"No, Gregory, I can't. You have no idea. I have to..."  
"Myke! You've been out of order for a whole week and the world didn't end. There are some crises... but your packed bag has your laptop and your cell phone, and yes, you have broadband at my house. And I will allow you to work from your sofa in the mornings. But you will rest in the afternoon."

Greg said that with a certainty and a self-evidence that impressed Mycroft.  
"So, you'll allow me to do that?"  
"Yes, I will. But only if you keep your end of the bargain and get enough rest."  
Myke smiled. Gregory was not afraid of him at all. There was hardly anyone else who'd dare speak to him like that. No, actually there wasn't.  
But Gregory was not just anyone, he was someone very special, he was his partner.  
"Agreed", Mycroft said, leaning back into the cushions of the fund. Greg gave him another gentle kiss on the forehead, and then he walked towards the house to get the things he'd promised.

As Mycroft looked after him and once again admired his rear view, he felt that he felt comfortable. Yes, he seemed to like it when Gregory spoke to him so assertively and took charge in his hand. He sensed that his partner was concerned about him, about his well-being, and it was extremely pleasant not to have to be the strong one, the decision-maker in everything, but to just let go and let someone do it. Giving the controle out of your hand.  
Yes, as little as this seemed possible to him in his daily life and as little as he would have wanted to, in his relationship with Gregory he began to enjoy it.

And so it was that Mycroft spent the next few days with Gregory, being looked after and pampered to the letter.  
Nothing too bad had happened in the days of his illness. The looming crisis in Southeast Asia was history within hours. The banana republics in South America, which had turned on each other and unleashed a full-blown guerrilla war, well, that could be put to rest within the next few weeks, and with that you had a couple of really nasty dictators off your back.  
Most difficult was the vicious sabre-rattling of the two small states in the middle east... well, he'd have to send some really good agents there. But that's nothing he couldn't handle either.  
He kept in touch with his deputy and successor and had to admit that the man did not do a bad job.  
Besides, he realized that he was actually not healthy yet. The few hours in the morning were quite exhausting for him.  
Around one o'clock Greg always had lunch ready, and after that Mycroft was banned from mobile phones and laptops.  
Gregory was strict and would not be bargained with. And even though Mycroft grumbled against it every day, he enjoyed it.

It was by no means that he was bored in the afternoons. Gregory kept him occupied.  
They snuggled a lot. In addition, as Gregory mischievously put it, they perfected their kissing technique through practical exercises on living objects.  
They dressed warmly and went for walks outside in the frosty air. They were short walks not to overexert Myke, but they were beautiful and did him good.

They watched movies together.  
Gregory had been horrified that Myke hardly ever watched movies and virtually never really knew any movie that mattered. He had decided to fill that "education gap".  
Mycroft wasn't too keen at first. He wasn't used to trivial things like that. But in the end, he found that it was actually quite fun doing it with Greg. They didn't just watch the films, Greg turned them into a real event. ...with chips or popcorn or finger food, and afterwards they'd talk, share their thoughts.  
Yeah, he could actually get used to that.

And another thing he could get used to was having Gregory around every day. That was truly the thing he enjoyed most. The feeling of not being alone. To have someone who cared for him, was there for him, and was there simply because he liked him.

Mycroft recovered well, and was finally fit enough to resume his work in full.  
So it was decided that he should return to his house on Sunday and go back to his office on Monday as usual.  
Gregory had once again conjured up a great lunch on Sunday, steaks, potato wedges from the oven, salad. And muffins with liquid chocolate chips for dessert.  
It was very quiet while they ate.

"Gregory, what's wrong?"  
"I hate to let you go, Myke."  
"Don't worry, Gregory. I'm fully recovered, thanks in part to your loving care."  
Greg lowered his head.  
"That's not it. It's just that I've gotten so used to having you here. I've been so happy to have you here with me. And now, who knows when the next time we'll have time together will be. My apartment will seem cold and empty without you."  
Mycroft's heart was in his throat. Oh, man, he loved that man so much. He didn't want him to be sad.  
But there was no other way to do it for a while.

"Gregory, I'm going to miss you too, I'm going to miss you so much. I'm gonna try to have a night off as soon as possible so we can get together, okay?"  
Greg nodded. He ate with little appetite.

Myke sighed.  
His heart was heavy too.  
And a plan was forming in his head.


	17. independent

It had been three weeks since they had last seen each other.  
Three fucking weeks.  
It had simply not been possible to meet each other, either Mycroft couldn't spare the time or Greg had too much to do.  
But now it was that time again.

They had sat together in that sweet little pizzeria and had eaten deliciously. Greg had had Spaghetti Napoli; he had held a fork full of it in front of Myke's lips, who had taken the delicious pasta, but Greg had quickly taken a loose, hanging spaghetti end between his lips and slowly slurped it in until their lips met.  
"Like Lady and the Tramp," he had giggled. Myke had uncomprehendingly looked around, and Greg just growled "Oh, boy!", and decided which movie they would soon watch together.  
He wondered what Myke would say if he showed him a Disney cartoon. He could already imagine the sceptically raised eyebrow; the expression on his face that would express himself clearly:  
"All right, Greg, but just for your sake," but he would probably enjoy it in the end.  
Greg grinned again.

Then his eyes fell on his partner. And he noticed that Myke seemed kind of tense.  
"Myke? What's wrong?"  
"Well, Gregory, I've done something where I'm not sure if you'll be happy about it or if you'll be mad at me."  
Greg swallowed. He felt his stomach start to rumble.  
"Okay," he said, and his tone ranged from stern to frightened.  
"What have you done?"

"I've quit my butler."  
"But why?"  
"Don't worry, Gregory. I've already found him a new position. Just as well paid as mine."  
"Myke, I don't understand.“  
"Well, he couldn't stay in my house, after all, I sold the place. To the next month."  
"You what? Sold your house?“  
"Yeah, what am I supposed to do with two houses..."  
"Mycroft Haggerty Holmes, you tell me what is going on, right now!“

If Greg was using Mycroft's hated middle name, which he'd given away in a fit of tenderness, and which no-one else knew, except Sherlock, of course, then Mycroft knew he'd better back off now, because Greg was about to be seriously pissed off.  
And an angry Greg... well, Mycroft just liked it better when there was harmony between them.  
So he explained.

"Greg, I've bought a house. Much smaller and much less pompous than my old one. But still big enough to offer some comforts. The bill of sale is perfect. All that's missing is one last signature. Yours. I want us both to be registered as owners of the house. That it belongs to both of us."  
He took a breath.  
"Because I want you to move in there with me."

Wow. Now Greg really had to swallow.  
Moving in with Mycroft sounded great, his heart pounded with joy at the thought.  
But...  
He wasn't quite sure whether to just enjoy the surprise, or whether he was annoyed that Mycroft had decided the whole thing over his head. Without consulting him.

And besides... he made quite a bit of money as a Detective Inspector, there was enough for everything he needed, plus a little luxury or two.  
Nevertheless, he suspected that a house, as Mycroft Holmes saw fit, still afforded him a price range that was beyond good and evil for his possibilities.

Mycroft had bought the house, which meant he was prepared to pay for it entirely on his own. And propably it was child's play for him, a tip from petty cash. And Greg was sure Myke enjoyed it.  
But... ...did he himself? It didn't seem right.

"Listen, Mycroft. I would very much like to come and live with you. I've had a wonderful week with you. It felt good to have you around me, it felt warm and familiar. But..."  
The look in Mycroft's eyes was now impenetrable, as if a shadow had been cast over it.  
"Myke, I don't want you to think that I'm being a kept man, kept by you. I'm on my own two feet, after all, and I'm quite capable of..."  
He was silent. He did not find the right words, but he was sure his darling understood him as well.

"Nobody gets that impression," Mycroft said.  
"Especially not me. I know who you are and what you can do. But I also know what you can't do. And I want to live with you. I promise you, I will try to interfere in your life less than anyone else's. But let me do this. Please. I want to move in with you. I want to come home to you at night, I want you to come home to me after long, hard days. You mean so much to me now, I don't always want you only visiting. I want us to be partners in life, with everything that this word implies. Please."

Greg swallowed.  
To get such a romantic declaration of love, especially from the "ice man" Mycroft Holmes, who hasn't been an ice man for Greg for a long time, that was damn nice. And exciting.  
Gregory chewed on his lower lip, then he took his wine glass, drank his last sip of red wine, and said:  
"Well, we'll see. I'm paying for dinner. No arguments. And then we'll go to the house and you'll show me around. And then I will decide how I feel about the whole thing, all right?"  
Mycroft sighed.  
But at least Gregory was not angry and if he interpreted the slight lines of smirk around his eyes correctly, there was a good chance he would agree.


	18. optimistic

When they got out of Mycroft's limousine and stood in front of the house, Gregory was already impressed.  
The house consisted of ground and first floor and was already very beautiful from the outside.  
Mycroft took Greg's hand.  
"Come on, let me show you around, and we'll see what's what, okay?"  
Greg nodded and followed his boyfriend out the front door.

He was quick to admit he liked it on the inside as well.  
There was a large living room with a cozy fireplace and a wide window front that gave a view of a terrace and a beautiful garden.  
A large, bright kitchen.  
There was also a small bathroom, a study and a library downstairs, also with a view of the garden.  
Upstairs were the bedroom, two guest rooms, another study and a large bathroom. With a freestanding bathtub.

Gregory was immediately enthusiastic about the bathtub. He wrapped his arm around Mycroft's hip and said with a smile:  
"A bath here with you after a hard day's work - there's something to that thought."  
Mycroft kissed him gently on the cheek, nibbled his earlobe and whispered:  
"And it gets better.“  
He took Greg by the hand and pulled him back down the stairs to the basement. There were utility and storage rooms, and then, yes, Myke showed him a room with a Jacuzzi and a wooden sauna at the back.

The whirlpool was lined with marble.  
Mycroft had had candles spread all over the rim, flickering quietly in front of him. A champagne cooler with a bottle of champagne and two glasses were placed on a slightly wider shelf. And a bowl with red, juicy strawberries.

Gregory looked at the scene with big, shining eyes.  
"You look like a child at Christmas," said Mycroft.  
"I feel like one," Greg said. He was positively glowing.  
"Well,' said Mycroft, and his hands wandered under Gregory's jacket.  
"Let me take you into that hot pool and pamper you to the max. Perhaps I can persuade you of the merits of this house."

Gregory listened to himself.  
If he wanted to be honest with himself, he had to admit he'd fallen in love with this house long ago. But most of all, he fell in love with the idea of living here with Myke.  
So he turned to him and said:  
"Just try it. It might just work."

Mycroft sighed in relief. It looked as if his Gregory wasn't totally unwilling after all.  
He began to slowly and lovingly undress his loved one. ...stripped off his jacket, turned his attention to the buttons on his shirt. ... while repeatedly giving him tender kisses on the neck.  
The shirt fell to the floor and the kisses now covered Greg's shoulders, chest and belly.  
Myke sat down on his knees and began to undo the belt of Greg's pants. He pulled the pants over his hips and let Gregory climb out. Then he tapped gently on his left foot, lifting it up and wiping his sock off. He repeated this with the other foot.

Greg was now only standing in front of him in his underpants. He was wearing those black, tight-fitting pants that Mycroft found extremely sexy on him.  
The clearly visible bulge that was visible in them and the soft moaning that Greg made showed him that his tenderness did not leave his sweetheart cold.  
He nibbled gently at the waistband of Greg's underpants. Greg moaned again.

As Mycroft gently pulled the underpants down, Greg's penis literally jumped out of them, happy to be free from the tightness.  
Myke laid his hands on Gregory's buttocks and clawed into them, kissing the wet, shiny glans and using it to elicit satisfied, cooing sounds from his darling.  
But before Greg could lose himself in these feelings, he got a pat on the bottom and the command:  
"Now off into the water with you. I'll be right behind you."

Gregory slipped into the lovely warm, slightly bubbly water. It was wonderful, and he was comfortable. He watched with delight as Mycroft stripped off his clothes and joined him in the pool. He put his arm around him and pulled him up.

For a few minutes they lay arm in arm in the water.  
Then Mycroft turned his face to Gregory and looked at him with his bright eyes.  
"Gregory, I would like to propose a toast to our home together. Have you decided to take that step with me?"  
You could tell he was nervous.  
Gregory nodded.  
"Yes, Myke. You can open the champagne. I would love to live here with you. But I have a few conditions."  
Mycroft looked at him questioningly.  
"First, we'll both work out what proportion of the house I can afford on my salary. I'll consider that an interest-free loan from you, and pay you back piece by piece."  
"Gregory, you know that's not necessary..."

"Yes, it is, Myke. For my self-respect."  
He poked his finger on Mycroft's nose.  
"Secondly, you will never buy anything expensive again without checking with me first. And by expensive, I mean expensive in my sense, not yours."  
Mycroft nodded.

"And the final condition. I know it's a bit early for this. ...but, um... ..I'd like to buy the rings one day, if we're going to be even more connected. And I'd like to know if there's any chance at all. That you might say yes someday.“  
Gregory was blushing and smiling sheepishly.  
Myke took a deep breath.  
"Yes," he said. "Oh, God, yes, Gregory. I'd say yes even now!"  
Greg beamed with satisfaction.

He picked up a strawberry and held it to Mycroft's mouth.  
...and he bit it. Greg put his lips to his lover's and nibbled a piece of the sweet fruit.  
"Basically we're engaged now," he mumbled into the kiss.  
"Oh, Gregory", sighed Mycroft, "I love you so!"  
...and he squeezed it tight.

They toasted with the champagne. It was a very fine one and they enjoyed it, enjoyed the glory hours.  
And they were both looking forward to their future together.  
It was nice to know that they would no longer spend the years ahead of them lonely, but that there was a person with whom one could feel at home.  
Loved and protected.


End file.
